On Purpose
by Wynhilde
Summary: Harry is a stubborn git. Malfoy likes him for that. HP/DM explicit adult content


**Title:** On Purpose  
**Author:** Verowyn  
**Pairing:** H/D  
**Rating:** R  
**Length:** 1300  
**Summary:** I used the prompt "Firedrill at the Ministry". Enough said.  
**Warnings:** handjob – EXPLICIT CONTENT  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the boys. Sadly.  
**Notes: **This was written for the Speedpr0nz community on LiveJournal

**Beta:** Many thanks to the ever wonderful **dysonrules**for betaing me while she was _working_!

* * *

Painfully insistent. That was how Harry would have described the noise. He tried to ignore it at first, wanting to finish his dull paperwork and leave for the weekend. But the noise wouldn't stop. Bloody fire drills! He knew he had no choice but to evacuate the building. He hated those fucking exercises the Ministry inflicted on them.

He had lingered around ten minutes before admitting he had to leave. The corridors were completely empty. Every single Ministry's employee or occasional visitor was already out in the courtyard where they must be registered before being allowed to go back to work. That meant he could use the lift, even if it was strictly forbidden to do so under these circumstances. But nobody would ever know. And the prospect of all those stairs was enough to make him feel exhausted.

The lift door opened and he strode in confidently. And froze. The door snapped close behind him with a final sounding click.

"Not following the rules again, Potter? Why would you?"

It was Malfoy. It had to be Malfoy. Harry cursed inwardly.

"Oh, shut up Malfoy! You're in this lift too, are you not?"

"I'm stuck in here. I was here before the fire drill began."

Malfoy seemed far too composed for someone stuck in a lift during a fire drill. Harry pressed the button which would open the door. Nothing happened. This time he cursed aloud.

"Fuck!"

Malfoy shrugged.

"We're going to die in here. Me, because I never have any luck and you… because you're an idiot."

Harry chose to ignore the insult and simply replied,"We're not going to die, Malfoy. Don't be stupid."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow.

"Oh. The Savior Syndrome, I guess. We're stuck in an elevator during a fire. I'd say if we're lucky we're going to be asphyxiated before actually burning. In either case, they'll only find indistinctive ashes and maybe your glasses. They'll mourn their precious Boy-Who-No-Longer-Lives and no one will ever know I was even here."

"Come on, Malfoy! This is only an exercise. We'll be fine and you know it."

"How can you be so certain?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Because they do it all the time! Look, last Monday they…"

"Yes, they did one on Monday. That's the proof this one is not a test. They wouldn't do it two times in the same week. Just accept the obvious, Potter. We're going to die and that's it."

Harry wisely stopped arguing. "You don't seem too upset about it."

"Why should I be?" Malfoy sounded bitter. "Nobody's going to miss me. I don't have your friends, your popularity, your wonderful job, your gorgeous girlfriend, your…"

"Stop. It. Malfoy," gritted Harry.

Malfoy smirked, looking satisfied.

"_You_ are upset, aren't you? Feeling guilty that you're going to die without having ever told your friends the truth?"

"What truth?" asked Harry before he could stop bit his lip, furious to have fallen into the trap.

"That you hate the fact that people are still looking at you after all these years, that you can't stand your job, that you like _men_ and that your relationship with the Weaslette is nothing but a joke."

Harry's jaw clenched and for one moment he was unable to come up with an answer.

"I don't like men," he protested eventually, but too much time had passed for the reply to be convincing.

"Prove it."

Harry frowned.

"What do you mean _prove it_?"

Malfoy was openly smug now. "Resist me."

"What? Malfoy, you're being ridiculous!"

Malfoy took a few steps forward. "Am I?" he all but purred.

Harry thought it was the right moment to start panicking, especially when he was already flush against the wall and totally unable to escape the other man.

"What are you playing at?" he hissed.

Malfoy's smile was terrifying. "We've already established that we're going to die. I'm sure you'll admit some experimentation is necessary. For the sake of truth."

"You're insane. You…"

The words caught in his throat because Malfoy was _touching_ him. He had splayed his fingers on Harry's chest and their heat was radiating through the shirt. Harry couldn't talk. Even breathing was harder than usual. Malfoy brushed his nipple through the fabric and Harry moaned. Their eyes locked and it was definitely a very bad idea because now Harry couldn't look elsewhere. He had always thought that grey was a very plain color. It was not. It was dark and fathomless, stormy and nearly liquid with unspoken emotions and it was doing strange things to Harry's gut.

And then the hand was tugging at the hem of his shirt, or maybe it was another one, because he could still feel the warm contact against his chest. He gasped as the hand sneaked into his trousers. He slowly acknowledged the fact that Malfoy was stroking him with his pants on. It was very difficult not to thrust against his hand. In fact it was impossible. Harry surrendered with a low moan and finally broke eye-contact. That was maybe not that good an idea, because there was a mirror on the other wall, and the sight it reflected was enough to make Harry's brain explode.

And when he thought he couldn't be hyperventilating more than he was, Malfoy's hand wrapped around his cock _inside_ his pants and Harry's vision went white. He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, only vaguely aware that he was twisting under Malfoy, trying to get more contact. Malfoy's cheek brushed against his and he could smell his hair. It had a fresh fragrance of plants he couldn't identify.

He had never thought receiving a hand-job could be more erotic than actual fucking, and yet here he was, panting and growling and shamelessly calling Malfoy's name. That wasn't right. He wasn't a schoolboy anymore. He was a grown-up man, he was someone who had responsibilities, he was, he was, he was _coming_ hard in Malfoy's hand.

They stood still for a while, hearts hammering in their chests. Malfoy's head was on his shoulder, soft hair brushing against his neck. Malfoy wasn't gloating, which was somehow disconcerting. Harry was struggling to find something to say before the whole situation became more embarrassing than it already was, but it suddenly wasn't important anymore because Malfoy was kissing him.

It wasn't shy or awkward like first kisses should be. It was intense and scorching and soul-destroying (and certainly wrong), but Harry couldn't bring himself to stop it. Strangely enough, opening his mouth to allow Malfoy's tongue to plunder inside seemed just the right thing to do. Malfoy's kiss was ravishing him and he realized with a bizarre mixture of panic and elation that he was feeling more alive than he had in years.

The kiss eventually ended and Harry began to think it would be courteous to reciprocate. His right hand slid towards Malfoy's crotch, only to discover a suspicious wetness. Harry felt his skin heating from the knowledge that Malfoy had come in his pants simply from touching him. Or kissing him? Both, he decided. It was quite an exhilarating thought.

"Don't look so smug, Potter. Don't forget we were only proving _my_ point."

_Prat_. Strangely, Harry didn't mind.

The lift doors opened suddenly and he realized the awful noise of the fire drill had stopped. It was over. Everything would soon be back to normal. He quickly fastened his trousers.

"I can't believe you used something so cliché. _We're going to die…_" He mocked Malfoy with a scared voice, very different from the one Malfoy had actually used. "Seriously, Malfoy…"

Malfoy didn't look embarrassed at all. He arched an arrogant eyebrow.

"Oh? And what if I said I was the one who activated the fire drill? On purpose."

* * *

My first language is French. I'll probably translate this fic into it some day...


End file.
